Photographs
by SYuuri
Summary: Up until this evening, he'd never had a chance, or reason, to go into her room. Or else, there would have been no way he would have missed that. S/J. xX Oneshot Xx


**Photographs**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint, or the song. **

**:: Because I am starving for more Sam/Jules less-frustrating moments. If they're not going to give them to me, I'd write them myself.**

* * *

"What are you doing?" Sam stopped at the doorway to Jules' room. It was only the second time he spent the night at her place and the small two floor townhouse had already felt like home. The place sent out a homey vibe his temporary apartment had never been able to reach. Of course, calling a one room apartment with an aging TV, a single bed and a closet home would be too overrated.

Startled, Jules whipped her head around. Blue eyes met chocolate brown, her face cracked into a sheepish grin. Clad in an oversized t-shirt and sweats, she was currently standing on her bed; hands reaching out to touch the ceiling. The ceiling was low so that even his ever petite (never short) girlfriend could do so without having any problems.

Still sporting the same bashful smile, Jules sat down Indian style then pat the empty spot next to her. The invitation to join her at her bed, however, was as innocent as watching her make a mango protein shake earlier that morning. The atmosphere surrounding the room was a 'just talking' mood in opposed to the 'priming-drywall' mood. The latter had been shelved for the evening.

"Is your ceiling leaking or something?" Sam walked inside the room, carefully setting down the steaming mug of hot chocolate on the nightstand before sitting down across her. The quality of the light was soft as she had turned on the bedside lamp. The room was bathed in rich, warm yellow glow.

He looked up and for several moments he couldn't speak, mouth opening a fraction. "Are those-"

The first time he stayed over in Jules' house was last week. He had had no intention to do a kiss-and-run and thus after returning the vehicle to HQ, he had dropped by at her place. His initial purpose had been to talk about what had happened; initial being the keyword. Conversation had led to confession had led to frustration.

They surely had done a pretty good number on Jules' couch that night.

Up until this evening, he'd never had a chance, or reason, to go into her room. Or else, there would have been no way he would have missed _that_.

Sam realized that he was staring, but he couldn't help it.

Covering a large area above her bed were photographs. _Lots_ of them. Photos of Jules with people he didn't know, of her with people he _did_ know and even more of the candid ones. Here and there, there were also pictures that had obviously been cut from magazines or newspaper; butterfly, peace sign, colorful balloons, clear blue sky and even a picture of David Bowie.

"Wow, Jules," he tore his eyes off the vast amount of pictures to look at her. She had changed position and was now laying on her back. She looked bashful and proud at the same time. Sam was suddenly filled with the need to lay down next to her. "May I?"

"Please."

And he did.

Shoulders touched, Sam stared up at the pictures. Jules' life, 34 years of it, was laid out right in front of his eyes to see. He knew that the pictures were of someone and something that mattered to her a great deal for obvious reasons (a black and white photograph of her with the team, appearing to have just finished playing paintballs), and for personal reasons (a picture of a sea glittering like blue diamonds).

Pleasure, contentment, accomplishment, pride, embarrassment, hilarity, sorrow, regrets… they were not all happy pictures.

Sam silently wondered if there's a picture of her former flame there. Ex-high school sweetheart, perhaps?

"Is that your father, the one with a riffle on his shoulder?" Sam questioned, recalling a picture he saw downstairs in the living room. Mr. Callaghan was a tall, stocky man. The hair on his scalp was already thinning but even in the dim light, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. "I assume you look more like your mom than your dad?"

"So I've been told."

He turned his head on the pillow. "Your mom was as stubborn as you?"

Jules chuckled and wrapped her arms over her waist. He didn't think he'd ever seen a gentler smile than the one graced her face now. "There were days when she would retreat to my room when she was having a fight with my dad," she paused, her eyes gazing into the memories of the past. "She didn't quite approve of my dad's choice to be a cop. I'm not sure she would have liked seeing her only daughter doing what my dad did."

_I miss that town__  
__I miss the faces__  
__You can't erase__  
__You can't replace it__  
__I miss it now__  
__I can't believe it__  
__So hard to stay__  
__Too hard to leave it_

Sam knew that Jules had lost her mom at a fairly young age, but that was it. She had never showed any intention to share anything further and the last thing he wanted was to destroy the friendship foundation they're slowly but surely building. She would tell him when she was ready.

"I'm sure she would have been proud of you, regardless. I mean, like yesterday you beat the crap out of me at the shooting range. Granted, I let you win, but still."

"Be a man and accept the fact, Sam," she remarked. "Don't be such a sore loser."

Laughing himself, he scooted closer and gripped her hand before studying the pictures, one by one, closely and carefully. One particular picture of a much younger Jules in _leather_ tights and white halter-top was calling out for him. She was performing on the stage with a Gibson in her hands. Eyes closed and forehead knitted together, clearly it wasn't some Thriller.

"You were in a band?" He wasn't asking- it was a statement.

"High school. Jake, my second brother, was the bass-player. We had a gig at one of local cafes and my dad actually came to see us that evening. It was nice."

Jules singing? Sure, he had heard her in the shower and she occasionally sang while driving or doing some chores. Her voice was pure and beautiful; powerful, especially for someone her size.

But Jules in a real band? _Leather tights_?

"Why'd you stop?"

Jules shrugged. "I don't know, things changed."

_If I could I relive those days__  
__I know the one thing that would never change_

"Maybe one of these days we will need somebody to pose as a singer stand-in. Hot calls at Phoenix Theatre?"

"You really are having fun, aren't you?"

"Will you ever go back to singing?"

Jules looked decidedly disturbed. "Maybe. I don't know. We'll see."

Thick melancholy atmosphere fell over them like a blanket and Sam racked his head for something to lighten up the mood.

"Should put up a picture of a curling iron."

It worked, magically _and_ painfully.

Jules snorted, jabbed him and made a move to shove him off the bed. He caught her small hands effortlessly and trapped them between their bodies. Once she stopped struggling against him -she wasn't doing a really convincing job at that- he wrapped an arm around her waist to tuck her closer.

_Every memory of looking out the back door__  
__I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor__  
__It's hard to say it, time to say it__  
__Goodbye, goodbye._

"They make me feel safe, loved even," she muttered, almost purred at the feeling of his fingers running through her hair. "Sometimes when I can't sleep I will look at them, reminding myself over and over again of how much I have to be grateful of. A great motivation for me to go out there everyday, keeping the peace and staying alive," she lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest, waiting until their eyes met. "You should know that I don't show this to just anybody."

Sam leaned down to press a kiss on her temple, inhaling deeply of her jasmine shampoo. "I appreciate it," he smiled, nuzzling his nose into her hair. "Though I definitely would have been more surprised if you had installed a massive mirror above your bed."

In spite of herself, Jules broke into peals of laughter. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not an exhibitionist."

Grinning, he pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ears. "What were you doing before I came? Putting up more pictures?"

Eyes twinkling with mirth, Jules wiggled free out of his embrace and reached out to the nightstand. When she showed him her finding, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was a snapshot of him.

Almost a minute had passed before he finally found his voice. He swallowed hard. "I look at least 10 pounds heavier in that Polaroid."

"Yeah? Make it 20." Jules scolded.

"How did you take this anyway?" Sam took the picture from her hand, still taken aback. He was laughing at something somebody, most likely Spike, had said. Judging from the shorter haircut, it couldn't have been older than a few days.

"With a camera," Jules answered flippantly and he rolled his eyes. "Winnie's, to be exact," her smile changed from mischievous to tender. "I have decided that it's time to put this up. You have passed the probation, _my_ evaluation."

Without waiting for an answer, she got up – he noticed with amusement that she had to tip toe to reach the ceiling- and stick the photograph in an empty section between the picture of the team at the Goose and a heart-in-the sand. "And it's not like I could put up your picture in my locker, group pictures not included," she pointed out. "It would be too scandalous."

"Thanks, Sweetheart." His voice was huskier than normal when he spoke.

"Don't be too cocky, I can always take it down," she waved him off, turning her head so that he wouldn't see the blush creeping over her face. "It's not like I'm using permanent glue or something."

Grabbing her around the waist, he rolled them over until he was hovering above her, lips mere inches apart. Keeping one hand on her hip, Sam tilted her chin up and leaned down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. Everything was heading to a promising night of fun and passion, but the moment broke when Jules abruptly pulled back. Sam nearly growled. "What?"

Jules bit down a laugh. "I didn't plan to have someone with me, which is exactly why you need to sleep in the guest room."

"_What_?" His voice raised a notch. Did he hear her right?

"I'm not going to do… _anything_ with my family and _Sarge_ staring down at me. Don't you feel weirded out?"

"Then we might as well give them one hell of a show," Sam protested weakly, feeling certain things get… uncomfortable. "Or we can turn off the light."

Jules entangled her hands in his ruffled blond hair to pull his head down, making the kiss firm and brief. Once they separated, she pushed him to his back and snuggled close, smoothing her hand over his chest. "Just sleep, Sam. It's late and we have early shift tomorrow anyway."

The tone of her voice suggested that there was no room for any argument and he knew better than pushed her button. She yawned, her mouth forming a petite 'o' and it was contagious. Sam mentally _ordered _his body to calm down, trying to match his breathing to hers. It was difficult to stay upset when Jules was being affectionate and lighthearted like this. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers, his legs tangling with her shorter ones.

He was a part of _her_ life now. She had shown him that _he belonged_.

On the nightstand the evening drink had gone cold, untouched. Under the Red Beach of Santorini and the thousand smiles of Jules Callaghan, Sam Braddock drifted off to a deep sleep.

_Look at this photograph__  
__Everytime I do it makes me laugh__  
__Everytime I do it makes me..._

* * *

**School is being stressful and a major pain in the ass. I really shouldn't be writing, but oh well. I'm hoping that this wouldn't be my last story until God knows when, but I can always play hooky :)**

_**Song: Photograph by Nickelback**_


End file.
